


Rubber Band

by BloodyAbattoir



Series: Your Reality Is A Nightmare [29]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depressing, Depression, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Gen, Self-Destruction, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: You are a rubber band, wound too tightly, liable to snap at any given moment.
Series: Your Reality Is A Nightmare [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/139122
Kudos: 3





	Rubber Band

You are a rubber band, wound too tightly, liable to snap at any moment. Nothing is in your control, everything is out of your hands, no matter how desperately you try to maintain some sort of grasp on everything that surrounds you. The stress builds and builds and builds, stretching you thinner and thinner, and yet, you try so hard to hold on, pulled in a dozen different directions at once. You can feel yourself beginning to crack around the edges, coming apart at the seams, one false move or ill-placed comment away from imploding on yourself. You are a slow burn disaster, coming apart piece by piece, decaying a little more with each day that goes past, petrifying in the bright sun.

You pray that no one sees your tenuous hold on reality, lest they try to test it, wrestle it away from you, finish driving you mad. That is not their duty, their right, their _privilege._ It is yours and yours alone, your god given right and your own cross to bear. You are the architect of your own creation, and you will devise your own demise. And yet, the entire while, the world attempts to usurp you, pulling you just that much harder, that much further, until you are no longer quite certain who is behind the wheel. 

Another ignored text pulls you in one direction, and you pull yourself even harder in the opposite direction by going without food for two days. This infernal tug of war slowly wears you down, wears you out, thins you out both literally and metaphorically, until finally, you are but a wraith, a shadow of who you used to be. You don't care, but whether that is because you legitimately don't care about collateral damage at this point, or you simply lack the energy to give a fuck, you cannot tell.

Another stressful situation, another poorly chosen coping mechanism, and you are that much closer to the end, whether you realize it or not. You are both glass and rubber, stretched too thin and fragile all at once. You know that even if everything suddenly stopped, if everything released you from the iron grips that it all has on your soul, you wouldn't bounce back. Indeed, you know that if anyone touched you too hard, or really, at all, breathed on you, so much as looked in your direction, you would shatter into a million fragments too tiny to be seen by the human eye, and all the kings men and all the kings horses couldn't put you back together again.

It is a sobering thought, and yet, not sobering enough. It does not counteract the tequila that burns your throat, does not nullify the cocktail of drugs that run through your veins, does not silence the voices in your head, does not make you less fragile, does not pull you back from the edge of your abyss that your toes now hang over, a half a breath from falling in and never being able to claw your way back out again. Knowing this does nothing for you, does not change your train of thoughts, your course of action. It does not make you one bit more sane. If anything, sitting and taking stock of your life, comparing what you've lost to what you have, what could have been to what you've gained, what's still up in the air to what's solidified, what could be to what will be, drives you more insane.

It only makes you resolve to throw yourself further into your spiral of self-destruction, work harder at unmaking yourself, dissolving into the nothing as if you never were. You lean just that bit too far to peer down into the abyss, and you fall, forever falling, lost to the sands of time, lost to eternity, lost to everything and everyone, with nothing but your own thoughts for company as you continue to plummet.

The rubber band has finally snapped.


End file.
